


After All This Time

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Minerva is such a tragic figure and i just, Mutual Pining, So much angst, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Palla, seeing Minerva struggling under the stress of ruling Macedon, comes to her commander to offer comfort. As she does, she reflects on their relationship and tries to come to terms with her feelings for Minerva.Takes place between Shadow Dragon and New Mystery of the Emblem, mild spoilers for the former (but not really).





	After All This Time

“Commander?” Palla asks softly.

Minerva looks up from her desk, her face dark.

Palla winces. “Oh, sorry. Milady.”

Minerva nods and gestures her into her study.

“Still getting used to it,” Palla says, chuckling nervously.

She walks carefully through the door, her boots leaving shallow imprints in the plush red carpet. The walls are lined with great black-stained wooden bookcases, each filled end-to-end with thick, dusty tomes.

“Can I help you, Palla?” Minerva asks. Her voice is hoarse and strained, exhaustion creeping through her words. The only sound is the scratching of an ink quill on a sheet of parchment and the occasional rustle of flame in the lamp on her desk. 

“I just…” Palla fumbled for the words. She stared at Minerva’s back, watching her work.

 

It had been a long time since she had spoken with her commander. Even longer since they had been alone together. The coronation ceremony was the last time they had been close, but even then it had been but for a moment. Palla had tried to reach out to her, to brush her arm lightly, to let her know that things were okay…that things would remain the same. She wanted to let her know that, even if it was a lie.

The Whitewings had been reassigned – despite Catria’s suggestion that they become the queen’s personal guard and escort, Minerva insisted that their duties were best served elsewhere.

It had made Palla angry at the time. It was unfair. And she knew what Minerva was doing – what she always did. Pushing away those closest to her. Palla, Catria, and Est were each assigned new duties – they were to be the commanding officers for three arms of Macedon’s Winged Cavalry. The Whitewings, as they had been known, were no more. Now they were commanders in their own right. She had been away, training with new recruits down on the coast. When she arrived back at the capitol, she was surprised to find that Minerva had no desire to see her.

Well, perhaps not surprised after all.

 

“I wanted to see you, com-“ she stops herself again. Habit. “Milady. To see how you were settling in.”

Palla can hear the rustling of a turned page. The scratching pen noise continues. She says nothing.

Palla takes a first cautious step towards her commanding-officer-turned-liege. She isn’t even aware that she’s holding her breath.

“I’m fine,” Minerva says softly.

Palla frowns. It’s so clearly a lie. Even if they hadn’t known each other for years, even if they hadn’t been…something, she would have known it wasn’t the truth.

 

Something? What even were they?

Not lovers. Once upon a time, perhaps. But no, not lovers. Minerva had made that abundantly clear. Palla remembered it clearly. The night when she confessed her feelings – and the night that Minerva had denied her that which Palla desired most in the world. Not desired, no. Craved? Hungered for, lusted for, groped for in the vague dark haze of uncertainty that this miserable world had cast upon them. She knew Minerva felt it too. Palla had been her hope, her bulwark, the rock upon which she stood. The single pinpoint of light in Minerva’s black sky. And yet.

Palla had cried herself to sleep that night. It was unfair. But she knew it was necessary. A commanding officer, and royalty at that, had no place with a peasant like her. A stable-girl from a poor village on the outskirts of Macedon. It had been hopeless from the outset.

She hadn’t even meant to fall in love. She had tried so very hard _not_ to. To remain detached. She knew that serving in the army was lethal – in each battle she had expected to die. It was the fact of service. She, like so many before her would fall. Whether by arrow, by blade, by axe, or she would simply succumb to the exhaustion. To the starvation, the sickness. She and her sisters were pressed into service together, and they had each vowed to protect each other. Though they knew that vow was meaningless. They had no power to control who lived and died.

Bit by bit, however, that despair fell away. They became a team, an unbreakable wall, the piercing lance of Macedon’s army. She grew stronger, as did her sisters with her. She met enemies with confidence, with certainty. Death was no longer a inevitability but a possibility. And then, it became nothing. Death could not touch them. Under Minerva’s banner, the Whitewings became a force to be reckoned with.

And Palla found herself drawn to with her commander. It was admiration, at first. To see such a strong woman, a fearless commander, a ruthless warrior. A goal to which she could aspire. She would watch Minerva train. She mimicked her actions, trying to get just as strong. Minerva could do no wrong in Palla’s eyes. She had sworn allegiance to Macedon, true, but it was Minerva whom she served.

Palla lacked something Minerva had, though. Some sort of spark that kept her going, past the point of exhaustion. Something that drove her to forgo food and sleep. Something that Palla could never quite grasp. She could see the cracks show from time to time – the trembling hands, the gaunt and exhausted faces, the bags under the eyes. Her seemingly perpetual insomnia. Palla ignored these all, though. Minerva was perfect. The peak of human accomplishment, the mold to which every soldier should be fitted.

And somewhere in all the long years, Palla fell in love.

It had been hopeless from the outset.

 

“Fine, milady?” Palla asks, her thoughts returning to present. She sees Minerva’s head dip slightly, an almost imperceptible nod.

Palla takes a deep breath. “Milady, I…” she falters. Minerva used to hate being called by her title. She would correct Palla constantly, insisting she be called by her name rather than her position. “Minerva.”

Minerva sits up, setting her pen down. “Why are you here, Palla?”

 

In truth, Palla herself does not know what she’s doing here. What does she hope to gain from this meeting in the dark of the night? She had her fantasies, of course. That Minerva had missed her as much as Palla missed her. She had bottled that up, though. Stored it on a shelf in her subconscious next to so many identical bottles. A more rational part of her mind expected some degree of warmth, some sort of familiarity. The commander she once knew.

The war had changed all of them, but Minerva most of all.

Their commander was harsh, but that made the moments of brightness shine all the more. She cared for them like they cared for each other. The four of them, together. A family. Scouting missions became camping trips, training became friendly competitions. Swimming in the creeks in the forests of Dolhr, hiking the mountains of Aurelis together. Watching the sunrise crest the craggy peaks of the Ghoul’s Teeth. Attending harvest festivals and visiting shrines. With some embarrassment, Palla recalls the time Minerva had dragged the three of them along with her to a royal ball.

The war did away with that.

During the war had been the first and only time Palla had seen Minerva cry. It wasn’t what she had expected – there were no wracking sobs, no gasping for breath. Somehow the calmness of it all made it worse. The trembling face, the lone tears tracking down her cheeks, dripping onto her clenched fists. She had allowed Palla to comfort her then, if only for a short time. Or, perhaps, it was that she allowed herself to be comforted.

It was unfair. It was all unfair. Minerva had served King Michalis, her brother. A hated tyrant, a despot that forced their people to suffer and die. Then she served Prince Marth, turning her axe on her own countrymen. And now, at the end of it all, she sat on the throne.

Palla had heard the angry whispers. The suspicion brewing into disdain. Their queen was an incompetent failure as a ruler and wholly unprepared to revitalize a nation ravaged by war. She had been thrust into a position she neither desired nor was capable of filling.

And so she suffers silently. Alone. The bloody queen sitting upon a throne of corpses, leading her nation to ruin. She who once held the hope of her nation now sat alone in her study, crushed under the weight of her burdens.

 

“I’m worried about you, Minerva,” Palla says finally, still staring at the back of Minerva’s head. She gazes at the askew tufts of red flaring out from her neck.

“Address me properly.”

“No,” Palla says, stepping forward with confidence.

“What did you say?” Minerva asks softly. It is not a request for clarification. It is a dare.

“I said no.”

Minerva pushes herself off the desk with two clenched fists. “I am your queen!” she roars.

“You’re my _friend_!”

Minerva remains hunched over the desk, face glowering. She turns slowly, her eyes like pinpoints of auburn fire under her scarlet bangs.

Palla steps back, realizing she may have made a mistake. She bows her head and closes her eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry, comm-“ she hesitates, shaking her head. “Milady,” she says delicately, lifting her head. “I spoke out of turn. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit.”

Minerva returns her gaze to the top of her desk, still pressing her knuckles into the intricate wood. Palla can see her breathing – her form moves up and down slowly, steadily, each inhale and exhale clear and pronounced, a slight movement in her rigid frame. Palla gulps.

“Punishment? I am not my brother,” Minerva says at last, her tense shoulders loosening. She closes her eyes, bowing her head lower. “Not yet, at any rate. Go. Get some rest. Leave me be.” Without looking up, she waves a hand in Palla’s general direction.

Palla stands in the doorway, still watching her commander – no, her queen.

Minerva withdraws her fists from the top of the desk and unclenches them into two unsteady hands. She lets out a sigh.

“Why did you send us away?” Palla asks. She knows she is in control here. Whether it’s the fatigue, the stress, or simply apathy, Minerva cannot work up the will to fight back. “Why?” Palla snaps angrily. She blinks back angry tears.

Minerva sinks heavily back into her chair. “You have no need to serve me anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I live at the castle now. I have no need for guards beyond those already here. Macedon requires your service elsewhere.”

“ _You_ need me,” Palla says. “Minerva, please. I know you’re suffering. Please…let me help you.” She slowly walks across the room, approaching Minerva’s desk. In the flickering lamplight, Minerva looks downright awful. Her skin is a sickly pale and her eyes are hollow and tinged pink. She blinks slowly.

Palla rests a hand on Minerva’s shoulder. “I’m here for you. Always.”

She is suddenly possessed by an idea. A bad idea, no doubt, but an idea nonetheless. If Minerva will reject her regardless, if she’ll send her away to the far corners of Macedon, if she’ll ignore her letters…then there was no point anyway.

Palla grasps the back of Minerva’s head and tugs her into a kiss.

Minerva’s lips are dry and rough, her mouth unresponsive and rigid. She shoves Palla back roughly, eyes wide with shock.

Palla panics. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” she stammers. “M-m-Minerva, milady, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me!” Her face lights up with a blush as she tries to hash out a word-vomit of an apology.

Minerva wipes her lips slowly. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Palla says. “I just…it just came over me. I’m sorry. I’ll go-“ as she turns to leave, Minerva grasps her arm.

“Why did you do that?” she repeats, her voice urgent, accusatory.

“I…” Palla stares down at the woman tugging on her sleeve. Not the portrait of regal authority, not the fearless commander, not even the pristine idol. No, this woman was something else. Human, with all the complexity that word requires.

“I…I love you,” Palla says, swallowing and trying to well up as much courage as she can. That was all there was to it, really.

“Why?” Minerva asks, brow furrowing.

“Is it really so hard to believe? I’ve said it before. My feelings haven’t changed since that night.”

Minerva sighs, putting her head in her hands. “Palla, please…just…go home.”

“I am home, Commander,” Palla says. She can see Minerva’s shoulders quaking. _Please_ , she begs silently to herself. _Just cry. Just let it out. All that pain and misery and loneliness and hatred. Stop holding it in. Stop suffering in isolation_.

Minerva speaks, her voice solid and unwavering, breaking Palla’s illusion. “Go back to your sisters. You belong with them.”

“I belong with _you_!” Palla snaps. “Est is married! Catria is thinking of traveling to Altea! They have their own lives to live, commander.” The habit refuses to break.

That startles Minerva. “Est is married?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Palla says, frustrated. “I sent you an invitation to the wedding. I guess you didn’t get it.”

That does the trick. Minerva lets slip a sharp whimper and squeezes her eyes shut. “Was it a nice wedding?”

Palla blinks back her own tears. “It was beautiful. She was so happy.”

Minerva nods. “I’m…I’m happy for her.”

“Me too, commander.” Palla grasps Minerva’s hand and squeezes it.

“And Catria?”

“She wants to visit Prince Marth in Altea. She’s thinking of promoting one of her soldiers to take her place.”

Minerva takes a deep breath. “And you?”

“I belong with you, commander. Always.”

Minerva looks up at her, her fierce eyes blinking rapidly. “Surely you have somewhere better to be than at my side.”

“I told you. This is my home. You are my home.”

Minerva shakes her head, tears dripping from her eyes. “I don’t deserve you, Palla.”

“You don’t think you deserve anything,” Palla replies.

Minerva doesn’t reply. It’s a conversation they’ve had before. Dozens of times. Rehashing that old fight wouldn’t mean anything now.

“You remember, don’t you?” Palla murmurs, letting go of Minerva’s hand. “That night.”

Minerva shakes her head. “That was a mistake. A glimpse into a life that was never meant to be.” A night of awkward touches, uncomfortable fumbling and nervous groping. Fear and uncertainty drowned in a flood of juvenile passion. A mistake. “A life that wasn’t ours to live.”

“But it could be!” Palla protests. “I loved you, Minerva.” She choked on her tears. “I…I still love you. Even after all this time.” She breaks down, falling to he knees on the carpet, sobbing. “Please…”

Minerva reaches down and gently brushes her cheek. Her fingers are worn, calloused. Fingers used to holding an axe, not a pen. Palla blinks back her tears and looks up.

“I’m sorry,” Minerva whispers. “You must know that we cannot…”

Palla sniffs. “I…I know. I’m sorry, milady. I…I should go.” She pushes herself up to her unsteady feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Minerva gets up from her seat and stands in front of Palla. She reaches out a trembling hand and wipes Palla’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry, Palla.”

Palla swallows. “I…I understand, milady.” She wants to scream. She wants to cry, to throw herself onto Minerva and sob until her tears are spent. To be in the arms of her mentor, her friend, her love, just one more time. She does none of these things. Instead she stands, sniffling and quivering, waiting for Minerva to make the next move.

Minerva does. She grasps Palla’s face with both hands and draws her into a kiss. The kiss is slow and deep, conveying through touch the desperation with which Minerva needs Palla’s lips. They stay like that, locked, still, soft. Palla closes her eyes and lets herself drink it in. They break for just a moment to breathe before plunging back into each other. Minerva drops an arm to Palla’s waist and pulls her tight against herself. Palla returns the gesture, wrapping her both tightly around her. She squeezes tightly, not wanting to ever let go.

If it were up to Palla, perhaps they would have stayed like that until the castle crumbled to ruins around them.

But it is not up to Palla, and she wakes in her bed alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey who wants to come yell and/or cry with me about how much they love Minerva
> 
>  
> 
> Uh anyway, I've been madly possessed by an idea that has led to me just about putting everything else on hiatus while I work on it (up to 40000 words now) so that'll be coming in the near future, but in the meantime I'm gonna probably do a couple short one-shots like this to stop myself from only working on one thing and getting burnt out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sorry it was such a bummer, but like...that's just how it is on this bitch of an earth. (The unstated epilogue here is that they finally get together after New Mystery of the Emblem, so the will be happy eventually god dammit)


End file.
